The Duchess of Berry and the Court of Charles X | Page 5

Governess of the Children of France. "I went to the bed of
Monseigneur. He was awakened. He was not surprised, and said

nothing, and allowed himself to be dressed. Not so with Mademoiselle.
I told her gently of the misfortune that had come upon her family. I was
agitated. She questioned me, asking where was bon-papa. I told her that
he was still in Paris, but was coming to Saint Cloud; then I added:
'Your bon-papa, Mademoiselle, is King, since the King is no more.' She
reflected, then, repeating the word: 'King! Oh! that indeed is the worst
of the story.' I was astonished, and wished her to explain her idea; she
simply repeated it. I thought then she had conceived the notion of a
king always rolled about in his chair."
The same day the court arrived. It was no longer the light carriage that
used almost daily to bring Monsieur, to the great joy of his
grandchildren. It was the royal coach with eight horses, livery, escort,
and body-guard. The Duke of Bordeaux and his sister were on the
porch with their governess. On perceiving the coach, instead of
shouting with pleasure, as was their custom, they remained motionless
and abashed. Charles X. was pale and silent. In the vestibule he paused:
"What chamber have you prepared for me?" he said sadly to Madame
de Gontaut, glancing at the door of his own. The governess replied:
"The apartment of Monsieur is ready, and the chamber of the King as
well." The sovereign paused, then clasping his hands in silence: "It
must be!" he cried. "Let us ascend."
They followed him. He passed through the apartments. On the
threshold of the royal chamber Madame de Gontaut brought to Charles
X. the Duke of Bordeaux and Mademoiselle and he embraced them.
The poor children were disconcerted by so much sadness. "As soon as I
can," he said to them, "I promise to come to see you." Then turning to
the company: "I would be alone." All withdrew in silence. The
Dauphiness was weeping. The Dauphin had disappeared. Everything
was gloomy. No one spoke. Thus passed the first day of the reign of
Charles X.
The next day the King received the felicitations of the Corps de l'Etat.
Many addresses were delivered. "All contained the expression of the
public love," said Marshal Marmont in his Memoirs, "and I believe that
they were sincere; but the love of the people is, of all loves, the most
fragile, the most apt to evaporate. The King responded in an admirable
manner, with appropriateness, intelligence, and warmth. His responses,
less correct, perhaps, than those of Louis XVIII., had movement and

spirit, and it is so precious to hear from those invested with the
sovereign powers things that come from the heart, that Charles X. had a
great success. I listened to him with care, and I sincerely admired his
facility in varying his language and modifying his expressions
according to the eminence of the authority from whom the compliments
came."
The reception lasted several hours. When the coaches had rolled away
and when quiet was re-established in the Chateau of Saint Cloud,
Charles X., in the mourning costume of the Kings, the violet coat, went
to the apartment of the Duke of Bordeaux and his sister. The usher
cried: "The King!" The two children, frightened, and holding each
other by the hand, remained silent. Charles X. opened his arms and
they threw themselves into them. Then the sovereign seated himself in
his accustomed chair and held his grandchildren for some moments
pressed to his heart. The Duke of Bordeaux covered the hands and the
face of his grandfather with kisses. Mademoiselle regarded attentively
the altered features of the King and his mourning dress, novel to her.
She asked him why he wore such a coat. Charles X. did not reply, and
sighed. Then he questioned the governess as to the impression made on
the children by the death of Louis XVIII. Madame de Gontaut hesitated
to answer, recalling the strange phrase of Mademoiselle: "King! Oh!
that indeed is the worst of the story." But the little Princess, clinging to
her notion, began to repeat the unlucky phrase. Charles X., willing to
give it a favorable interpretation, assured Mademoiselle that he would
see her as often as in the past, and that nothing should separate him
from her. The two children, with the heedlessness of their age, took on
their usual gaiety, and ran to the window to watch the market-men, the
coal heavers, and the fishwomen, who had come to Saint Cloud to
congratulate the new King.
The griefs of sovereigns in the period of their prosperity do not last so
long as those of private persons. Courtiers take too much pains to
lighten them. With Charles